Poem 17

Worse

There’s nothing worse,

worse than the defecate stuck

at the heel of your favorite

sneaker

because some dumbass

forgot to pick up after his shit

and just because

he didn’t care

about the others

walking behind.

 

But there is,

it’s called a home

that really isn’t one to begin with

and there lives

the highest ranking

dictator

who doesn’t give

a flying fuck

about the shit that’s gone

and stuck itself

on you.

 

He just looks at the mess you’ve brought

as if it was your fault,

that you’d brought it

upon yourself

to be so shitty unlucky

this one day

and he hovers over you,

reminding you of this one time failure,

lying in wait

for the next.

 

-velajune

update: This is a poem from spur of the moment. I know there are dads who’ve made their children happy and still doing so. I know that not all dads are like mine, which is a real good thing. So, there goes a disclaimer- kinda.

I also just recently updated on tumblr with: It Just Stinks

And if you want a good read, here’s a link to one of my favorite, not really published, writers: Attica

There’s that. I’ll update again when I remember what I’ve forgotten, if I did indeed forget something.

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